


you make believe that nothing is wrong until you're cryin'

by notthebigspoon



Series: Brandon and Hobbes [11]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Crawford, calm down.”</p><p>	“No. Nonono, no, we gotta get out of here, there's got to be a way out, try the fucking door again Lincecum, jesus christ!”</p><p>	“Really, man, calm down, everything's gonna be fine.”</p><p>	“No, it is <i>not</i> fine, they can <i>not</i> keep me here, I'm not <i>fucking</i> crazy!”</p><p>Title taken from Re-Arranged by Limp Bizkit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you make believe that nothing is wrong until you're cryin'

“Crawford, calm down.”

“No. Nonono, no, we gotta get out of here, there's got to be a way out, try the fucking door again Lincecum, jesus christ!”

“Really, man, calm down, everything's gonna be fine.”

“No, it is _not_ fine, they can _not_ keep me here, I'm not _fucking_ crazy!”

Tim stares blankly at Crawford. Cool, calm, collected California boy Crawford who takes life as it comes and doesn't worry about the little things. Except now. They'd gone into the storage closet in search of towels and the door had locked behind them. Crawford had tried the handle and grumbled under his breath. He'd jiggled it a little harder and started paling. And when the third try and then Tim's try at opening the door failed, he'd promptly started freaking out.

He's now sitting in the floor, knees drawn up under his chin and arms wrapped around his legs. He's shaking, teeth chattering almost and he keeps shaking his head. Tim hesitates before sitting down next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, rubbing his arm. He'd say something but he doesn't know what to say. He's never seen Crawford act like this and he can't really makes sense of Crawford's concerns. Nobody has ever called him crazy that Tim knows of.

“It's okay. We'll get out of here. I'll text somebody. It'll probably only be a few minutes.” He hates that his own voice sounds so uncertain. It's just that he doesn't know the right things to say to comfort Brandon.

“Can't. Can't lock me in here, not right, they're not supposed to do things like this. S'not legal. S'not.”

Tim remains silent, just rubs Brandon's arm and fumbles his phone out of his pocket, sending out a text to everyone that was in the clubhouse to come down and let them out. He pushes his phone back in his pocket, softly tells Brandon that he messaged the guys and they'll be out in a little while. Not that it matters, because Brandon doesn't seem to hear him anyway. He's not listening to Tim anymore, maybe isn't even aware of him. 

While it probably is only a couple minutes in reality, in Tim's head it feels like they wait for hours. Brandon still isn't breathing right, is just whimpering and shaking his head and wiping his eyes. The only consistency to his words are the insistence that he's not crazy and that he wants Hobbes, he needs Hobbes, he needs Hobbes right now. Tim has heard that the stuffed animal is like a security blanket for Crawford but he hadn't realized until now just how true that is.

When he hears voices, he yells out to get the attention of whoever has come looking for them. The door rattles and then opens a few seconds later, Cain and Buster smiling down at them. As soon as they see the state that Crawford is in, the smiles slip away. Tim climbs to his feet, whispers quickly to Buster what Crawford had been saying and that Tim hadn't been able to comfort him. Buster's skin goes white and then he looks angry and Cain's face is drawn, his mouth a thin, flat line.

Buster reaches out and down, takes Crawford's hand and Crawford looks so relieved that he could cry. He doesn't speak, just chokes on the words and shakes his head, the tears rolling down his cheeks. Buster just nods, whispers something that sounds like 'I know' and Tim wonders what he knows. When Buster kisses Crawford, Tim just tilts his head. Huh. That was something that he hadn't seen coming.

“C'mon... c'mon, let's go home. Everything’s okay, let's go home.”

Crawford nods and Buster steers him past Tim and Cain, not looking back, just speaking quietly and gently. Tim stares after them before turning his attention back to Cain, gnawing on his lip and giving him a curious look.

“Okay, I'm pretty sure that that had something to do with what Crawford's enforcers know that the rest of us do not know.” Tim says slowly. “And normally I'd mind my own business. But I just had Brandon Crawford freak the fuck out on me and then he was crying and I'd kind of like to know what the fuck is going on.”

Cain studies Tim, his expression thoughtful, like he's looking for something in Tim that he would very much like to find. It unsettles Tim, makes him wonder what could possibly be so bad that they can't trust Tim, when they've never had to hide anything from him before. Hell, Tim was the first one to find out about Cain and Zito. They hadn't even asked him not to tell anybody because they had already known that he wouldn't.

Whatever he was looking for, he must find it, because he nods and rests a hand between Tim's shoulder blades. He says to come with him and not to ask any questions, just be quiet and he'd see what was up. Tim stares up at him before nodding, letting Cain steer him down the hall. It looks like they're heading back to the clubhouse and he chews on his lip, frowning when Cain knocks. When the door opens, Pablo peeks out and looks at Tim, frowning. It kind of hurts, actually, and Tim frowns right back at him.

“Are you sure?”

“It can't hurt anything.” Cain shrugs. “Is everybody else gone?”

“Yeah, I cleared them out when I got your text. Claimed we were having an enforcer orgy.” Pablo smiles, pushing the door open so they can come in. “You should have seen them running. It was awesome.”

True enough, when the doors open, Crawford's so called enforcers are scattered around the clubhouse, Theriot and Zito sitting cross legged on the floor next to each other. Sanchez is sitting in his chair, playing with Theriot's hair and occasionally flicking Zito's ear. Cain goes straight to Zito, sitting down next to him and leaning in for a quick kiss. Sandoval moves further on, Tim following him uncertainly. He looks around for Buster and Crawford and when he sees them, he shrieks and lunges behind Pablo.

There is a tiger sitting on the floor with its head in Crawford's lap. A motherfucking tiger is cuddling motherfucking Brandon Crawford while Buster fucking Posey kisses Crawford's hair and rubs his back. When Tim screams, they all look up at him. Crawford just looks exhausted and still scared, Buster looks agitated and the tiger looks mildly amused. It lifts off the floor and pads toward Tim. Tim starts backing away. He doesn't understand why Pablo is laughing until the tiger starts talking.

A few hours later, they're all scattered across Zito's living room. Crawford is out cold on the couch with his head in Buster's lap while the rest of them are settled in different spots. Tim is curled up in Pablo's lap, eyes occasionally flicking down to Hobbes. Once he'd gotten over the fact that there was a talking fucking tiger on the loose and that apparently many people knew about it and didn't see fit to tell him. He's a little hurt but he can see why they wouldn't tell him.

They told him everything, about Brandon's fucked up childhood and what had been done to him as a teenager, why he's so afraid of hospitals to the point where he won't even go visit his teammates when they're in there. Why the 'enforcers' always run everyone out for their meetings. Why it's such a big deal when anyone touches Hobbes and why Buster had all but threatened to kick Crawford's dad's ass. It all makes so much sense now, why they're so determined to protect Crawford, even if that means protecting him from his own teammates. Even if it means protecting him from himself.

“He's... how could anyone do that to someone like Crawford? He's a sweetheart.” Tim whispers, turning his head so he can see Pablo.

“I don't understand it either. Even if he's not crazy, he's still pretty damn unstable.” Pablo murmurs. “A couple weeks ago we talked, like maybe he should go see someone about the insomnia. Just a regular doctor, y'know? But he thought everyone wanted to send him back to the hospital. This is the first he's talked to us since. Seems to help though. He likes routine. Every time something goes to hell, we have a sleepover.”

“Yeah, you guys kinda suck for leaving me out of it, by the way.”

Pablo shrugs. “We never know who can see Hobbes and who can't. If people find out, then they find out, but Crawford prefers to be very careful. He hasn't had it easy. He's in constant fear of people thinking he's crazy or people trying to send him back the hospital. He has nightmares about it.”

“He's going to be okay though, right?”

“Yeah... we're going to take care of him. We always do.”


End file.
